


a place we set afire

by scriveyner (trismegistus)



Series: The World Below [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Developing Relationship, M/M, Minor Lance/Shiro (Voltron), Selkie Lance (Voltron), Werewolf Keith (Voltron), Werewolf Shiro (Voltron), Werewolves Turn Into Actual Wolves, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-09-21 19:40:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17049365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trismegistus/pseuds/scriveyner
Summary: There was a book half-slid under the passenger seat in James’s pickup that had been given to him by a grizzled old hunter at a truck-stop bar somewhere in the Midwest. It was old and battered, pages dogeared and scribbled over, and several were straight-up missing, torn halfway through page.Werewolves,the book said,were evil.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set after the events of 'down on my head' - which will possibly get finished some day when the wounds from s8 are healed.

James Griffin had fucked up.

Not only had he fucked up, he had _majorly_ fucked up; and, now he was going to die. Which, small consolation that it was, at least it was only him paying for his idiot mistake and not anyone else on his team - but that wasn’t about to fix anything when he knew he had maybe two minutes left on this Earth … if he was lucky.

The bark of the old fallen tree had splintered as the creature slammed claws longer than James’s entire hand through the rotten wood. He scrambled back farther, shaking hands lowing a silver shell into his sawed-off shotgun and trying to ignore the way the bones crunched against his back. It was dark in the tree; illuminated only slightly by the flashlight he’d dropped before he dove for cover, but he knew this action by heart. What he didn’t know was if the shell loaded with pure silver would do anything other than piss off whatever it was that was trying to eat him, but he wouldn’t know unless he tried and he was dead either way, so what the hell.

The thing roared again and this time the trunk did more than splinter, it cracked straight through. James angled his shotgun, prepared to take the shot before its claws could find purchase in his flesh. However, there was a sudden silence that stretched long after the deafening crack of the tree - the beast was still out there, he could hear it breathing hoarsely. His heart hammered in his chest, finger shaking on the trigger as he hesitated, trying to gauge the beast’s position before he pulled it. Then the creature snarled and as he shifted, there was an answering snarl, distant and different. Something else had arrived.

Oh _good_. As if his night couldn’t get any more exciting.

The snarling turned vicious - and most importantly, moved away. James didn’t waste any time, he scrambled forward, climbing on his elbows out of the trunk with his shotgun held tight in both hands, ready to roll and fire in an instant, if it came to that.

He didn’t have to. As James scrambled to his feet the creature that had been menacing him slammed into a tree on the other side of the clearing, growling and practically foaming at the mouth. He leveled his shotgun at it but his eyes weren’t drawn to the beast - instead they darted to the much smaller creature snapping its jaws and threatening the thing.

James’s opinion of everything cycled all the way back around to _I’m fucked_ the moment the moon peeked out from behind dark clouds and illuminated the werewolf advancing on the bear creature.

Werewolves he could, theoretically, handle. He had handled at least one werewolf before - one, singular werewolf alone and trapped in a cycle of killing and blood-lust that he had mercy killed on the night of the new moon when she couldn’t transform, and was begging him to end her misery - and somehow that made him think he was qualified to do this full time. He was regretting that decision right now, in this moment surrounded by trees centuries old and the full moon high in the early autumn sky.

The combat between the two monsters was brief and violent - the bear creature charged the werewolf, who danced skillfully on four legs around its swiping, behemoth limbs; jaw darting and snapping and taking chunks of the creature like it was some child’s game. James could smell the blood in the air as the thing slowed, staggered … and when it finally started to fall the wolf went in for the kill, teeth tearing out the beast’s throat in one final, savage move.

The bear creature let out a gurgle instead of a bellow, and lay still in the dirt.

The werewolf padded around the beast once, nosing the ground and scenting it. It was a dark shape on four legs; distant enough to be mistaken for a real wolf or a wolf-dog … but after it had completed its circuit the werewolf’s head came up, ears cocked and staring directly at James. James held his shotgun tight and kept his bead directly on the wolf.

“Stay back,” he didn’t know how his voice could sound commanding or authoritative, considering how certain he had just been that he was about to die. He _should_ pull the trigger, any self-respecting werewolf hunter would pull the trigger and end this, but … he wasn’t really a hunter, was he? “Stay away,” he added, as the werewolf took a few, cautious steps in his direction, head low and ears forward, eyes catching the moonlight and glinting.

Then there wasn’t a wolf there at all but a man, crouched slightly, the moonlight illuminating pale skin and dark hair drenched in blood and ichor.

Huh.

_That_ was new.

“I smell death.” The man - no, he was still a werewolf, on two legs or on four - spoke. His voice was a croak, clearly from lack of use. No shit he smelled death, he’d killed something right in front of James as if it were nothing, the beast’s blood on his lips still. He stalked toward James and James scrambled back, shotgun still leveled at him; but he ignored James entirely, heading for the wreckage of the fallen tree. He ducked to peer inside and paused, seeing the bones within - and then rested his shoulder against the soft rotten wood and sighed.

“What,” James said, and didn’t take his eyes off the werewolf before him, “the _fuck_ is going on?”

“I need a drink,” the werewolf announced, and rose to his feet. He was completely nude and James’s eyes went down before they went up, a flush of embarrassment crossing his features. The werewolf seemed oblivious to both his nudity and James’s reaction to it. “You got a flask?”

“I don’t,” James said, mouth dry. He wet his lips and lowered his shotgun slightly, finger finally slipping off the trigger. “I think I have a bottle of Old Crow in my truck, though,” he added, although he wasn’t sure why.

“Old Crow,” the werewolf grumbled, squinting at James like he was an exhibit in a zoo. “I supposed I shouldn’t be surprised, shitty hunter, shitty whiskey.” He stalked right past James again, the moonlight catching in his raven hair as he crouched beside the fell beast once more.

“What was that thing?” James asked finally, keeping his back to a tree because if this werewolf decided he didn’t want any witnesses he did not want to be caught unaware. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“A were-bear,” he said after a moment. He placed his hand in the fur of the creature, and then looked toward James, dark hair curling to frame his blood-streaked face. “Bitten last month, I’d wager. The moon sickness took her and carried her out of control. Thank you for leading me to her.”

Well, it seemed gauche to say, ‘oh I thought I was hunting a were _wolf_ ,’ because that seemed highly inappropriate and also a quick way to wind up dead and, having somehow dodged death once so far this evening James wasn’t keen on trying for a second time. “Don’t mention it.”

“Keith,” the werewolf said as he rose. James blinked at him as he strode close, and he jerked the muzzle of his shotgun up reflexively. This time the werewolf stopped and eyed the gun for a moment, as if seeing it for the first time. “I’m Keith,” he said, slowly, as if James didn’t understand him the first time, and indicated himself before gesturing toward James.

“Griffin,” James said, and didn’t lower his shotgun.

“God, even your name sounds douchey,” Keith said. “Shitty whiskey, shitty hunter, shitty name.” He folded his arms as James gestured at him with the business end of his weapon.

“Real smart, insulting the guy with the gun on you.”

Quick as a twinkling the man was gone and the wolf was gone as well, a shadow through the trees. James spun, trying to keep a bead but he definitely wasn’t quick enough. Silent as a whisper the wind caught on his jacket and James jumped when Keith’s breath ghosted in his ear. “Not fast enough, Griffin.”

He turned, whipping his shotgun around and Keith instead flicked his forehead with a finger. “If you were going to shoot me you would have already,” he said, matter of fact and the edge of something _playful_ in his tone. “I’m going to get wasted on not-shitty whiskey. You coming?”

James watched as Keith - still stark naked - walked out of the clearing. He looked down at the gun in his shaking hands, took a deep breath, and then followed him.

 

#

 

There was a book half-slid under the passenger seat in James’s pickup that had been given to him by a grizzled old hunter at a truck-stop bar somewhere in the midwest. It was old and battered, pages dogeared and scribbled over, and several were straight-up missing, torn halfway through page.

_Werewolves_ , the book said, _were evil._

James watched Keith demolish more french fries in one sitting than any mortal man could ever dream of. He was still eating fries when James returned from standing outside the bar, phoning Leif to tell her he was still alive and that the beast terrorizing the area had been dealt with. She didn’t seem reassured, although he promised to check in again in a few weeks. Keith raised an eyebrow at his distraction when he sat back down at the bar-top. “Everything cool?”

He was in a bar with a werewolf.

“Yeah,” James said, wondering at what point exactly he had lost control of his life. “Everything’s cool.”

_Bound by the full moon’s light and cursed to transform into wretched beasts, whose only desire is to corrupt and eat the hearts of the living._

“You know,” James said, as he slung his duffel into the back of the truck, “there _are_ such a thing as leash laws.”

Keith hung his head over the hatch, yawning huge and showing off teeth that could tear a throat to shreds in a heartbeat. James was struck by the sheer size of the wolf sprawled luxuriously in the back of his truck, and he leaned his forearm against the side of the truck.

“Do I need to buy a collar?” he asked, and Keith’s ears went back, teeth exposed as he growled softly. “Then if you’re going to use my truck as a nesting spot, you need to keep your head down when I’m in a store.” The growl turned into a soft whine, and after a moment Keith dropped his head back down, out of sight. James groaned and climbed into the cab. Everything he owned was going to smell like _dog._

_Weak to silver and to fire, the best and quickest option to end their suffering is a silver bullet to the heart._

“Silver bullets are a terrible weapon,” Keith said, pawing through James’s duffel while he sat on the open hatch of the truck’s bed, looking at a map and marking locations with a red marker. “They’re too soft to do any actual damage. You know what’s an awesome weapon? A silver-plated machete. Versatile and useful against demons, too.”

“And nosy werewolves,” James said, lifting his attention from the map to glare at Keith.

The grin Keith delivered was bone-chilling. “What makes you think that werewolves are weak to silver? Some old book full of Hollywood movie monster stereotypes?” James was silent, and Keith resumed appraising his weapons cache. “You really are a shitty hunter if you base all your knowledge off of Hollywood.”

“Not all my knowledge,” James sulked, and flattened the map with one hand, laying down another red ‘x’.

_Werewolves can pass their curse with a single bite, be cautious._

“So how long have you been a werewolf?” James asked, curious, as Keith kicked his feet up onto the dashboard, attention on the phone in his hand.

Keith gave him a strange look. “How long have you been human?”

“...are you saying you were _born_ like this?”

Keith slid his phone into the hoodie he was wearing, settling into it and rolling his eyes with mimed exaggeration. “What did I tell you about stereotypes, Griffin? My mom’s a wolf, so I’m a wolf.”

The fact that there might exist something so benign as wolf families was something he’d never considered. James stared at his hands on the steering wheel for a second, and then looked over to Keith, who’d gotten comfortable in the passenger seat. Keith yawned, showing a hint of too-sharp teeth, and the moment passed. James started the truck when Keith’s phone went off again and he groaned, pulling it out of his pocket. “What _now?_ ”

A strange expression flitted across his face, James never would have caught it if he wasn’t looking at Keith. “What is it?”

“Serial killer,” Keith said, tapping his phone. “Only not, all signs point to a new vampire that’s gone off the farm. Side trip?”

“Yeah, okay,” James said. “Where are we headed?”

_Beware; if they cannot claim your soul, they will take your heart instead._

 

#

 

“Do you do anything other than sleep?” James asked as Keith pulled the hood of his sweatshirt down over his eyes, the passenger seat reclined as far back as he could. The man was wearing large, dark sunglasses and a faded black hooded sweatshirt; he growled something long-winded and obscene when James roused him to let him know they’d arrived. “Sleep and eat my provisions and manage to somehow make the entire interior of my truck smell like wet dog?”

Keith folded his arms and tucked his chin to his chest. “Your truck smelled like wet dog before I got here.”

“It did not.”

“You probably had a whole pack of wet dogs in here and you’re trying to blame the easy target.”

“I’m allergic to dogs,” James looked down at the map on his phone. “They make me sneeze.”

“Bullshit. That’s, that's bullshit, I haven’t heard you sneeze _once._ ”

“As you’ve told me a half-dozen times already, you aren’t actually a dog.” James looked over at Keith and frowned. “You’re seriously not concerned about this serial killer vampire thing?”

“Griffin, for the last time,” Keith sat up on his elbow and looked at him over his dark sunglasses. “Vampires are a piece of cake. Especially the loners or the just-turned. They don’t like sunlight, they’re aren’t very strong on their own, and it just takes a piece of white oak, and cutting off their heads. Easy enough that a twelve-year-old could handle it.” He settled back into his seat, arms folded. “You’ll be in and out in no time, I have faith in you.” He waved one hand in a shooing gesture. “It’ll be easier than that goblin last week.”

“That goblin almost ate my face.”

A moment of silence passed, and, grudgingly, Keith sat up again. “You really are a shitty hunter,” he grumbled. “You talk a big-ass game about being a mighty hunter but you are absolutely full of shit.”

“All I’m saying is I appreciate having someone seasoned on my six,” James said. “Why even risk it by going solo? It’ll get done faster and cleaner with backup.”

Keith snapped his fingers. “You’re scared of killing your first vampire.”

James twisted in his seat and glared at Keith. “Did you just call me chickenshit?”

“Well, I hadn’t _yet_ but since you brought it up…”

James rolled his eyes and slammed the driver’s side door. He wasn’t afraid of a vampire, he _wasn’t_ \- it was just common sense to have someone with him who’d done this for so long it was second nature to them. He was still green, even if he wouldn’t admit it. “Drinks are on you,” he said, aggressively through the window, and Keith put two fingers to his forehead in acknowledgment, not emerging from his hood to watch James enter the brownstone.

 

#

 

Keith squinted at the grey light filtering through the spread tree branches and wondered, briefly, what woke him. He pulled his phone out of his pocket to check for messages when alertness hit him like a ton of bricks. He hadn’t actually meant to fall asleep, Griffin should have been in and out in no more than twenty minutes - but it was dusk now, and there was no sign of him.

_Shit._

He flung himself out of the truck and didn’t bother going for a weapon. Machetes and stakes were all well and good but he had claws and teeth and a bite grip strong enough to make his point well.

He barely made it through the door when the fresh scent of copper overwhelmed him. “Griffin!” Keith yelled, not caring what his commotion might attract as he looked around wildly, trying to pinpoint the origin of the fresh scent of blood. “Griffin!”

There was no response. Not much by way of noise, either - no sound of some vampire feeding noisily, just blood in the air so thick he could taste it. Keith tore up the stairs and straight into a second-story charnel house, nearly tripping on an arm that had been casually separated from its owner, maggots wriggling under the flesh. Keith bit back a gag and pressed on, picking his way more carefully toward the place where the scent of death lay thickest.

The door at the end of the hall was already half-open, and when Keith pushed it in farther he was stopped by the headless body of a vampire going to goo on the carpet.

It was half-dissolved - this wasn’t a recent death, although more recent than the carnage that lay behind him, so Griffin couldn’t have killed _this_ vampire … which begged the question of what else was in this house, too.

“James?” Keith called, more cautious now; he didn’t jump when a body suddenly slid to the side, leaned just out of sight against a four-poster bed. The familiar scent of him hit Keith’s nose and he crossed the room in an instant, one hand on James’s shoulder and immediately thankful that his body was still warm to the touch.

His head lolled when Keith caught him and there was blood streaked down under his collar. He’d been fed from, not turned - but the vampire was long dead. “James, James-” Keith said, catching his face with one hand, turning his head and trying to shake James from the stupor he was in. His bare skin was hotter than usual, almost feverish, and even as Keith was concentrated on James all of his senses kicked into high gear as _something_ came at him from behind.

Keith flung himself to the side and it laughed, resolving from a dark blur out of the corner of his perception into a semi-solid form. Keith recognized the scent of sulfur that bespoke a demon - but demons didn’t bite humans, feeding from them like vampires did.

Well.

_Most_ demons didn’t.

“Incubus,” Keith said, and speaking the creature’s name aloud brought its form into shimmering relief; humanoid and dark, blurring slightly at the edges like it couldn’t quite hold on to the memory of shape. Keith stared at it, its structure and face familiar - like looking into a mirror. “What the _hell_ ,” Keith snarled as the incubus locked its red-eyed gaze on him.

“Oh,” its voice sounded like razors, prickling at his skin. “You are just _brimming_ with vigor.”

Keith watched horrified as its edges blurred even more, form growing taller, broader - eyes still red as burning coals above a too-familiar scarred visage. “Come to me,” the incubus said in _his_ voice, the syllables dragged over broken glass, gesturing with shadow-dark arms, “and I will give you what you need.”

Keith’s teeth clicked in his jaw, the growl building to a full snarl; the incubus backpedaled almost instantly in a panic. “Wolf-breed,” it hissed - the last words it managed to get out before Keith was on it, flashing teeth and rippling fur.

 

#

 

“What’s wrong with him?” Lance leaned around the door as Keith carried James into the room, slinging him carefully into the only bed in the small cabin. “He smells … weird. Wrong.” The selkie wrinkled his nose and frowned, arms folded, as he watched Keith stand beside the bed and consider its occupant.

“He’s sick,” Keith said, and Lance sputtered for a moment.

“And you put him in _my_ bed?”

Keith ignored Lance’s indignation. “Where’s Shiro?”

“At work. Where I’m supposed to be in like, an hour, but you brought an unconscious, half-dead hunter into our home and put his diseased ass into my bed, and that’s not cool, Keith.”

“He’s good people,” Keith said softly.

“That’s what you said about the vampire lady, and I’m still traumatized.”

Keith’s eyes flashed. “Allura saved our _lives_ , Lance. She-” It was still hard for Keith to find the words and they instead lodged in his throat, so he looked away angrily. Lance didn’t say anything else. “Will you find Shiro and tell him what’s going on?”

“Find him? I know exactly where he is, he’s at the bar. What _is_ going on?”

“Incubus venom,” Keith said. “Griffin was bit by an incubus, and its venom is in his system now.”

Lance stared at him blankly. “Is that… am I supposed to understand what that means?”

“Shiro will.” Keith raised his head and looked at Lance pleadingly. “Please?”

“Whoa, okay, okay,” Lance put up his hands. “If it makes _you_ say the P-word I know it must be important. I’ll go get Shiro.”

Keith saw Lance out the door, and once he was safely headed toward town Keith shut the door firmly and put his forehead to the wood. He closed his eyes and heaved a large sigh, the memory of the incubus’s form cast solid in his mind.

He looked down at James, where he’d laid him on the bed. He was pale and sweating, atop the rumpled (and probably deeply unclean, best not to think about that too much) bed sheets; it wouldn’t be long before he woke in pain as the incubus’s venom worked its way through his system. There _was_ an antivenom for an incubus bite, he’d been instructed in its use by the Blade on the rare circumstance it might be needed - but the odds of finding it out here were slim, and the odds of _getting_ here before the venom ran its course and drained the life from its victim were astronomical.

There was, of course, the _other_ way to deal with an incubus’s venom, if nothing else.

Keith sighed again, pushing his hand back through his hair before sitting down heavily on the edge of the mattress. It would take Lance and Shiro at least an hour to get back here, so he didn’t have much time to make that decision. “You’re damn lucky I like you,” he said aloud, to no response.

Not that he expected one.

 

#

 

James woke woozy and too-hot, the rumpled sheets under his chest sticking to his skin with sweat. He curled his fingers into the sheets and groaned, trying to shift forward but feeling pinned in place; when he dropped his hips slightly he felt his bare cock drag against the mattress beneath him and all of his nerves lit electric. He let out an embarrassing, involuntary moan, eyes still close, as the intense pressure he was feeling shifted and moved and he realized suddenly, distantly, that he had a cock in his ass.

There was a lot less panic at that revelation than he thought he should feel; the worry and fear distant as he tested the extent of his movement. It felt good, surprisingly good; he was stuffed full and his face was buried in sheets that smelled of someone else - when he rolled his hips and arched his back he felt a firm palm press against his shoulder, keeping him down as that pressure inside him dragged and increased.

He was going maddeningly slow, shifting, flexing, dragging - and James keened, trying hard to indicate the need for more, _now_. He couldn’t vocalize it further, his brain scrambled by conflicting needs and desires, and instead of begging he simply kept trying to slam his hips back, forcing himself onto the cock that was splitting him open and getting it deeper inside.

“Griffin-” the voice was familiar and not, heavy and hoarse with exertion. The hand shifted from flat on his shoulder blade to grasping the muscle of his shoulder and _god_ he didn’t care, he just wanted. James gnawed his lower lip bloody and felt the sheet tear under his curled fingers - whining as the warmth and the heat withdrew suddenly, leaving him empty and cold and aching.

That same grip on his shoulder shifted, released, and without any more pressure James rolled onto his back and stared at the unfamiliar ceiling. This wasn’t a motel room, which was what he was expecting, and it baffled him. A firm grip on his ankle drew his attention as his legs spread, and James blinked at Keith kneeling between his cocked-wide legs.

Keith was naked.

Granted, he’d seen Keith naked before - more times than he was comfortable with, really, at this point - but he was naked and erect, cock slick and glistening in the overhead light; and there was a strangeness to its shape that he didn’t quite understand, the way it flared just before the coarse, dark hair that hid its root. His logical brain wasn’t doing its best processing at the moment, but he knew above all else he _wanted_ that cock, and he wanted it _now._

Keith was watching him closely, and James found he didn’t care. He arched his back against the bed and whined, hands slapping against Keith’s thighs, trying to pull him closer. “Please,” James managed, “please, Keith, I want-”

“You don’t know what you want,” Keith said hoarsely, out of breath and panting. He hadn’t released James’s legs yet, and it looked as if he was struggling with something.

“I do,” James was out of his mind with it, he needed to be filled _now_ , felt like he was unraveling, felt like the world was going to come apart if he didn’t get that release. “I do, please-” He scrambled and wiggled and wanted to beg even more than he had already but couldn’t find the words, one hand going from Keith’s firm, muscled thigh to his own ass, fingers plunging into his hole and feeling the slick of lubrication there.

Keith grabbed his hand by the wrist and yanked him free, and without another word pressed the head of his cock against James and slipped right back in. James thumped his head back into the mattress, staring right through the ceiling as he felt that intense, amazing pressure as Keith split him open yet again; and then that flare pushed against his rim, stretching him wide before it gave and Keith sank in even deeper than he had before.

James wanted to scream, wanted to sob; it felt so good and he was so _full_ \- Keith moved himself slowly, again and again, that knobby growth at the base of his cock rubbing James’s insides raw. He hiccuped and sobbed and wanted to touch his own cock; it felt like it was burning up from the inside out but Keith caught his wrist before he could, pinning his hand against the bed over his head. Between Keith’s punishing thrusts and his hands pinned tight he had James completely at his mercy and James’s entire body spasmed as his cock sputtered weakly against his belly.

“Come on,” Keith grunted, moving his hips hard, snapping them into James, never withdrawing enough to pull that knot out. “Come on, James, _come_ for me….”

Fuck, _fuck_ he was right there, right there at the edge and he wasn’t quite over it… Keith let out a low, guttural growl and James felt him pulse, felt him unwind, shooting off his load inside but instead of growing soft that warm knot grew firmer, growing larger and god he was going to _scream_ it felt so good, he’d never been so full in his entire _life-_

His orgasm burned like fire, cock sputtering; James stared in confusion at his belly where instead of his normal ejaculate there was brown, tacky, foul-smelling fluid splattered. “What-?” he said, dazed, as an immense, bone-weary exhaustion struck him, pulling him down and under before he even knew what he was trying to fight.

“You did good,” Keith said softly, didn’t pull out, rocked his hips gently as James shuddered underneath him, again and again. He leaned forward, brushing James’s bangs aside and kissed his forehead. “Sleep.”


	2. Chapter 2

James woke tired, his cheek pillowed on his arm and half buried under a heavy comforter that smelled faintly familiar. He was exhausted, wrung out and aching in the worst way and he didn’t quite understand why but the ache permeated his muscle down to the bone. Frankly, he didn’t want to move at all, but his last coherent memory was a shade faintly in the shape of Keith - and how he got from there to here, _and_  the fact that he didn’t appear to be dead no matter how much that seemed preferable at the moment, well … that merited some explanation, if nothing else.

A door just slightly out of his line of sight opened, and James rolled his head on his arm, watching as Keith exited a tiny bathroom, the light still on behind him. He was clearly fresh from the shower, a towel cinched around his waist and skin still glistening from the steam; he hesitated when he caught James’s movement and they locked gazes. Inexplicably, Keith’s expression softened.

Well. _That_  was weird.

“You actually awake?” Keith asked, as if he hadn’t just made eye contact, and James shifted, moving to get up. He frowned as his muscles screamed in protest but chose to ignore them, rolling over to sit up and wincing significantly. He pushed his hand back through his rough hair and groaned meaningfully as Keith watched him. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been dragged six blocks under a city bus.” It was only a minor exaggeration. James rubbed the back of his neck and shifted, then realized abruptly that he was completely naked. He scrambled for the top sheet and yanked it over his lap self-consciously, yelping slightly with the action and flushing solid red. “Why am I _naked?”_

“Ah,” Keith said. He’d left the doorway and was now hovering closer to the mattress, but he didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. After a moment he folded his arms. “Do you know what an incubus is?”

“Like the band?”

“Has anyone told you that you’re a terrible hunter lately?” Keith said as he gave up and sat on the edge of the mattress, groaning slightly himself. “Because you are straight-up a _terrible_  hunter, James.”

“First, that was a joke,” James said dryly, “and second, I’m _James_  now, huh?”

“You prefer I call you Griffin?”

“I don’t care, it’s just … you’re being weird.” James shifted again slightly and frowned. “Am I dying?”

“Not anymore,” Keith said dismissively, and James stared at him. “You _do_  know what an incubus is though, right?”

“I’m really more concerned with the ‘ _not anymore’_  part of that sentence. I was _actually_  dying?”

“You’re fine now,” Keith said helpfully.

James rubbed the spot just above the bridge of his nose and exhaled. “Is this just, a normal thing for people like you? Almost dying all the time? Because it’s exhausting.”

“You’re not kidding,” Keith muttered, and leaned forward. James punched his shoulder, and Keith said, reflexively, “ow,” and put his hand on his bare shoulder, staring at James wide-eyed. “You hit me!”

“You could have _warned_  me about a freaking _incubus_ ,” James’s voice rose, and Keith furrowed his brow and frowned.

“Do you really think I would have sent you in there if I knew there was an incubus?”

James rubbed his neck angrily, looking away for a moment. “You were gung-ho about sending me in solo for a vampire, so how would I know?”

The silence crackled between them, angry and sharp. Keith pushed a hand through his damp hair and exhaled loudly. “Look, I’m sorry,” he said finally. “The last thing I wanted was for you to get hurt, all right?”

Hand still on his neck, James’s thumb encountered the reddened, raised flesh, and he hesitated, remembering faintly the way that the Keith-shaped shade had bitten him; eyes glittering red. “Oh, shit,” James said. “I was bitten by an incubus.”

“You’re fine, I took care of it.”

When Keith said that, James had the distant recollection of the large black wolf that was Keith’s other self tearing out the throat of the incubus, muzzle dripping with brackish blood. “But…” the bite of an incubus was worse than the thrall of a vampire, he thought; then the other memories were starting to come back to him piecemeal and James’s hand migrated from his neck to his face as he remembered, properly. “Did we really have sex?” he croaked, and Keith flushed red and looked away.

“It was the only option,” Keith said, hesitating. “I’m sorry, you … weren’t exactly in the best frame of mind to consent, and there wasn’t enough time to get the anti-venom. The only other way to break an incubus’s spell is to, well…” he shrugged. “Fuck it out.”

“We had sex,” James said again, staring distantly at the wall. The memories were scattered and fragment but god, they were _good_ ; and he really shouldn’t be examining any of them in such lurid detail with the offending party sitting recalcitrant beside him offering an apology for saving his life in the best possible way. “Uh,” James said, half covering his face with one hand and probably as red as he’d ever been in his entire life. “Thanks.”

That drew Keith’s attention back to him. “Did you just thank me for the sex?” Keith asked, bewildered.

“More like, thank you for saving my life,” James said, rushed, and Keith looked away again, uncharacteristically flustered. “I mean, the sex was pretty great from what I remember, but don’t let that go to your head or anything.”

They both looked at each other again, still blushing awkwardly - and after a moment they both laughed. “I’m not gay, though,” James added almost as an afterthought.

“Yeah, okay.” Keith patted James’s knee and then stood up, and James watched the muscles of his back flex as he stretched his arms over his head. He was still blushing awkwardly when Keith looked over his shoulder at him, giving him a strange look. “You all right?”

“I’m good,” James said, strangled, and really, _really_  hoped that he was.

 

#

 

Somehow, James’s legs managed to hold him upright long enough to shower, though his knees felt weak and he was sore in a way he couldn’t begin to describe. He scrubbed his hair under the hard water and tried not to think about anything, especially not the soft ache between his legs, and when he wiped the steam from the mirror with his palm he _especially_  didn’t think about how the incubus had chosen to take Keith’s form.

Nope.

Not worrying about that at _all._

James exited the bathroom, now worried more about where his clothes had got off to, to find a strange, lithe, brown-haired young man sitting cross-legged in the center of the stripped mattress. The sheets and comforter were in a pile on the floor at the foot of the bed, and he was squinting suspiciously at a phone screen held too-close to his face. “Um,” James said, holding his towel and glancing around the room, looking for either his clothes or Keith. “Hello?”

The brown-haired man spun slightly on his butt and made a show of slowly lowering the phone screen to glare at James. “This whole place stinks of sex,” he said, and then pointed his phone at James like a weapon. “You’re doing my laundry for this.”

“Lance,” Keith’s voice came from beyond the cracked-open door. “Leave James alone, I already told you I’d get the laundry.”

Lance made a face, scooting to the edge of the bed and still staring at James. “I don’t know what you did to Keith,” he said, voice lower now, “but keep at it, he’s much more pleasant to be around.”

“I didn’t do anything,” James said. He looked around the room again and finally spotted his jeans against the wall. He started collecting his clothes, dirty though they were, and as he straightened he saw an unfamiliar jacket hanging from the back of the bedroom door. “Huh,” James said, and reached out to touch the fabric, running his fingers down along it. There was something not quite right about it, but before he could even voice his concern Lance was between him and the door and his eyes caught the light, flashing blue.

“Don’t _touch_  that,” Lance snarled, and James pinwheeled back, almost dropping his armload of dirty clothes. He stumbled over the sheets bunched at the base of the mattress and fell back, ass just barely landing on the edge of the bed.

“You’re a skinwalker,” James said, breathless, adrenaline kicked in because he was weaponless. “That’s your true skin, isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question, because he’d felt skin, not windbreaker. “What _are_  you?”

The door banged slightly, and Lance moved forward with an easy grace, eyes glittering. “I’m no skinwalker,” he said, his voice gone soft and lethal, and his gaze was locked onto James like a predator prepared to move in for the kill. “But you are a hunter, and that makes you my enemy.”

“ _Lance._ ”

This voice wasn’t Keith’s, and Lance froze in place as if ordered. After a moment his shoulders slumped and he inclined his head, and James was able to see the man in the doorway behind him for the first time, broad and tall. “Stop it.”

“I wasn’t going to _actually_  hurt him,” Lance said with a pout, his interest in James gone just that quickly. He sidled up to the man in the doorway, who gave him a firm look, and Lance whined slightly before being ushered out the door.

“Get changed,” the man said to James, strands of white escaping a ponytail and framing his face. His voice was warm but full of authority, like he couldn’t imagine anyone bothering to disobey. The door to the bedroom clicked closed behind him, and after a moment James flopped over backwards on the mattress, still holding his dirty clothes in a bundle to his chest.

These were Keith’s _friends?_

 

#

 

“My name is Shiro,” the man with dark hair and a scar across his nose said, shaking James’s hand with an easy confidence. “And that,” he added, inclining his head to where Lance sat sprawled over an beaten old sofa, “is my husband, Lance. Sorry about his behavior, I’m still house training him.”

Lance lifted a particular finger in Shiro’s direction, although Shiro didn’t seem perturbed by him at all. “James Griffin,” James said, and looked around the cramped living area for Keith. He didn’t see him anywhere, and based on the layout of the cabin there really wasn’t anywhere for him to go but outside. “I’m sorry to impose.”

“Any friend of Keith’s is a friend of mine,” Shiro said warmly. He leaned in a little close to James and inhaled, and James tried not to lean back and away. “You’re not a wolf, so you’re not with the Blade, then?”

He shook his head. “I’m a hunter.”

There was a moment of stretched, strained silence. “See?” Lance said finally. “You should have let me eat him, Shiro. _Hunters_ ,” he added on, the disdain dripping from the word a palpable thing.

“We don’t eat Keith’s friends,” Shiro said calmly, although there was the hint of an edge to his voice. His attention swung back to James, and for a moment James swore that he had too many teeth, too sharp. “What do you hunt, James?”

James said carefully, his voice unwavering. “Only things that hurt people.”

Shiro nodded firmly, after a moment had passed. “He’s on our side, Lance.”

Lance folded his arms and eyed them both warily. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” he scoffed, and turned his attention back to his phone. “Remember last time, Keith brought a vampire here? I prefer the vampire.”

“Lance will warm up to you eventually, just give him time,” Shiro said as they stood in the kitchen, but James kept his back to the wall.

“Where’s Keith?” he asked warily.

Shiro smiled. “He went for a run. I didn’t feel it necessary to go with him, I wanted to meet you first.” He handed James a beer from the fridge, and James looked at the bottle in his hand, and then to Shiro.

“You’re a werewolf too,” he said.

Shiro took two more bottles out and set them on the counter. “Something like that,” he said, and opened them.

 

#

 

Shiro found Keith sitting on a rock, halfway down the slope to the ocean. He had approached from upwind, so he knew that Keith realized he was there, but Keith didn’t stir until Shiro nudged his shoulder with one of the two bottles he had carried down from the cabin. “I see you’ve found Lance’s favorite brooding spot,” he said as he sat down heavily on the rock beside Keith, his own bottle in hand.

 

Keith took a pull from the bottle without even looking at it. “I wasn’t aware that Lance was capable of brooding,” he said, a rough edge to his tone.

“He has his moments.” Shiro leaned back on his prosthetic hand, looking out over the ocean. “It’s hard on him, sometimes. Leaving his entire world behind.” Shiro let out a small sigh and dangled the bottle by its brim, holding it between two fingers. “You’re not okay,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. Keith hung his head, gaze angled away from Shiro, and that allowed his dark hair to frame his face.

The wilderness wasn’t silent, and Shiro counted the faint crash of the waves against the shore until Keith lifted his head, eyes turned to the faint dusting of stars that were peeking through the twilight sky. “You know how I felt about Allura,” Keith said, his voice rough. Shiro nodded his head, because Keith had all but vanished from their lives in the aftermath of the ritual, distancing himself from everyone and everything he knew. “Shiro,” Keith said, “why doesn’t this feel wrong?”

“Why should it? All you did was remove the venom from Griffin’s system.” Shiro took a pull from his bottle thoughtfully. “What were you expecting to feel?”

“I don’t know.” Keith turned the bottle in his hands, attention downcast. “Hate? Revulsion? I hate him, Shiro, he’s so annoying. He’s like Lance, but worse. He’s a _hunter_. A _human._ ”

“Like your father.”

Keith actually flinched at that and Shiro knew the wound and didn’t know why he added the pressure. “Seems to me,” he said, and directed his gaze to the sky. “That Allura would want you to be happy.”

“She could still come back,” Keith said softly, a quiet note of hope in his voice. “She woke once before.”

“After a thousand years, Keith. Somehow, I don’t think you have that in you.” Shiro shifted and sat forward, then slid his arm over Keith’s shoulders, pulling him close. Keith went, allowing himself to be pressed to Shiro’s side and relaxing against him as if he was meant to be there. He fit well against Shiro, and Shiro cradled his head for a moment before kissing the crown of his head. “I do believe it’s possible to love more than one person at a time, Keith,” he said, softly. “And I’ve never seen you happier than you are with James.”

Keith lifted his head, nose wrinkling as he frowned. “I’m not happy with him,” he said, insulted, and pushed Shiro away, one hand to his chest. “This is the first time you’ve ever even _seen_  me with him, don’t do this.”

“You’re smitten with him,” Shiro grinned at Keith’s clear expression of disbelief. “I can tell, don’t even bother denying it. You’re as smitten with him as I am with Lance, it’s adorable.”

“You take that back,” Keith shoved at Shiro again, who laughed and took a swig from his beer. “Don’t ever say that again, you’re not smitten with Lance, ew. He’s just got that,” Keith waved his hand in the air dismissively. “Siren selkie juju that he cast on you.”

“That he cast on me with his dick,” Shiro said casually, and Keith choked on his drink. “ _So_  malevolently. And,” he added, a far-off, distant grin on his face, “he lets me knot him.”

Suddenly the color drained from Keith’s face. “Oh,” he said, and Shiro looked at him. “ _Shit._ ”

“What?” Shiro said. “You … didn’t _knot_  James, did you?”

Keith buried his face in his hands.

“ _Keith._ ”

“It was the heat of the moment! I was just - he was begging, and I was out of my head, and-” he pushed his hand back through his hair and hung his head, wincing. “ _Fuck._  I knotted James.”

“Keith,” Shiro said his name again, this time an admonishment, and he winced appreciatively. “You need to tell him.”

“It’s not binding, he’s not even a wolf.” Keith took a long pull off his bottle and sighed. “He barely remembers the sex and is grateful enough, he doesn’t have to know.” He rubbed his hands over his mouth, shoulders slumping as he rested his hands between his legs. “He doesn’t need to stray any farther into this world than he’s already been.”

“Well, that’s very noble of you and all, but it’s not your call to make.” Shiro cocked an eyebrow and Keith looked away. “I think you should just talk to him, Keith. He makes you happy. That’s all that matters.”

 

#

 

James looked up when the door to the cabin opened, and breathed out a sigh of relief when he saw Keith. Lance slid off the counter where he’d been sitting and flounced past Keith, throwing his arms around Shiro and delivering a rather passionate kiss in full view. Keith didn’t turn around, but his expression told James that this wasn’t an uncommon occurrence.

“How are you feeling?” Keith asked, and while James considered how to answer that with prying ears hovering behind Keith, Keith just kept going. “You ready to hit the road? There’s not exactly room for us to stay the night here.”

“Lance can sleep on the couch,” Shiro said, arm around Lance’s waist. Lance gasped, scandalized.

“I will _not_  sleep on the couch,” he said. “Where would you sleep?”

“On the floor, like Keith.”

“It’s okay, Shiro,” Keith said, and looked to James. “We’ll be fine, right?”

There was an undercurrent to Keith’s tone that sent a strange feeling down James’s spine. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was different. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “Yeah, we’ll be fine.”

Shiro gave James a stern look. “You’ve barely recovered from an incubus bite,” he said firmly. “I don’t know what sort of misadventure Keith has planned, but it would be safer for everyone if you at least stayed the night.”

“Shiro,” Keith said, his voice a warning half-growl as he turned. There was a moment of electricity in the air as the two wolves eyed each other, still clothed in the skin of men.

The tension was broken by Lance, his arm still looped with Shiro’s as he tugged Shiro away from the door. “Keith’s a big boy,” Lance said. “They’re fine. Keith can handle anything the world throws at him and Griffin can handle Keith.” There was a particular emphasis on the word _handle_  that brought a quick flush to Keith’s cheeks, and he glanced to James quickly and looked away just as fast. Another line item in James’s book of the strange.

Besides, this place was _weird_. James couldn’t get out of here fast enough.

 

#

 

“So,” Lance said, as they listened to James’s truck rumble off into the distance. “Fifty bucks says they get through the next town before they stop off for a motel room.”

“You don’t even have money to wager with,” Shiro said, leaning down to kiss him. “And you really think they’ll get that far?”

“Too cold to fuck in the truck.”

“You underestimate Keith, love.”

 

#

 

James leaned against the passenger side of the truck and yawned, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “Took you long enough,” he grumbled when Keith emerged from the motel’s leasing office, key in hand.

Keith unlocked the door and hesitated, but James was tired and pushed past him into the room. He slapped the light switch and stopped just inside the door. “So,” Keith said, closing the door behind them and leaning against it. “…if you want me to go back to the office and get another room, I can.”

James let out a small sigh, and then crossed the room to set his duffel on one side of the king-sized mattress, before turning to look at Keith still standing against the door. “What is this?” he asked. Before Keith could answer the obvious, James held out his hand, palm up. “Don’t say ‘a single bed’,” he warned. “What is _this._ ” He indicated himself and Keith. “I thought you were just helping me to not die.”

“Yeah,” Keith said, and ducked his head, looking down. He fumbled his hand back for the knob. “Sorry, I - I’ll just, I’ll sleep in the truck tonight, okay? You take the bed, and forget this ever happened.”

James put his hand flat against the door, beside Keith’s head. His heart was beating in his throat, being this close. “I didn’t say I wanted you to sleep in the truck,” he said, and felt that strange quality in his voice again, the same slight tremor that was in Keith’s. “I just want to know what this is, Keith. A straight answer.”

Keith raised his head and looked James in the eye. “It’s a proposition,” he said, open and honest, and James took a deep, shaking breath, his hand curling into a fist against the door.

“Yeah?” he said, because this was too much, and he was about to overload.

“Yeah,” Keith said, and only closed his eyes when James finally kissed him.

 

#

 

Lance woke when Shiro rolled over, pulling his phone off the charger on the floor and squinting at it, the display bright enough to light up their entire bedroom. “Dammit,” Shiro said, and the glow from the phone screen cut off when he locked it.

“Dammit?” Lance repeated sleepily as Shiro snuggled back down into the bed with him.

“I owe you fifty bucks,” Shiro said, and kissed his forehead.


	3. Chapter 3

The sunlight was warm, cast in a single stripe over James’s bare shoulder; and as it inched its way up his skin he let out a small sigh and squinted open his eyes in annoyance. There was a crack in the motel room drapes that allowed the daylight to intrude, and now unfortunately, he was awake. James pulled his arm from where it was hanging over the edge of the mattress and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, cracking his neck and rolling over.

Keith was asleep beside him, face half-buried in the pillow.

James caught his breath. He didn’t know why, but he half-expected Keith to already be awake, to be watching him - or out of bed and gone entirely. Instead, he lay undisturbed by the mattress shifting under James’s weight, breathing soft and even. The light of day revealed an old scar on Keith’s shoulder - he’d felt it out in the dark, fingers brushing over the roughened flesh but having been too preoccupied to process it at the time. James reached out to touch it now and hesitated, seeing the tail of a recent, raised red welt intersect with the bottom of the scar on Keith’s shoulder blade.

There were plenty more of those trailing down his scapula and without disturbing the covers James knew there would be a matched set of scratches on Keith’s other shoulder. James brushed his hand over his mouth and flushed, staring at his handiwork.

 _A proposition,_ Keith had said, a fire in his eyes James didn’t understand. He wanted, and he didn’t understand that either and the frustration was a deep-seated ache in his chest.

The muted buzz of a cell phone made Keith stir. Without opening his eyes or lifting his head he slid his hand under the pillow and retrieved the offending electronic device, putting it to his ear with a snarl. “ _What?_ ”

James left Keith to his conversation, facing the water that sputtered out of a lime-encrusted shower head and tried to come to grips with the fact he’d just slept with a werewolf.

A werewolf who he spent all his time with anyway; who slept next to him in the cab of his pickup when they couldn’t come up with the funds for a shitty motel room, who wrapped himself around James when they camped out in the woods, a giant living black blanket of warmth who let out disgruntled whuffling noises when James idly scratched his ears but never jerked his head away.

A werewolf who had saved his life. In more ways than one.

Keith was sitting on the edge of the bed, hair a sleep-rumpled mess and cell phone dangling in his hand. He was squinting at some late morning local show on the motel’s old television. “Shower’s free,” James said unnecessarily, hands on the towel around his neck - and somehow he didn’t blush when Keith’s gaze raked over him, slow and purposeful, before moving up to meet his eye.

They didn’t talk about it.

“You believe in ghosts?” Keith asked over greasy diner food. James gave him a Look and Keith shrugged in return. “Most people don’t.”

 _Most people haven’t been literally fucked into the mattress by a werewolf,_ James wanted to say, but didn’t. Instead he raised an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”

“Something might have come up,” Keith stuck a french fry in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “I need someone to watch my six on this, and…” he gave James another, almost helpless shrug and James suddenly realized _why_ they hadn’t really talked yet.

“You really think I’d turn down the chance to watch you get laid out by Caspar the Super Unfriendly Ghost?” James said, and stole a fry from Keith’s plate. “Where are we headed?”

Days and nights blurred together just like that, and James couldn’t really say it upset him. It always seemed like Keith had something else come up that he could use James’s help with - a coven controlling a small rural town here, a moon-mad werewolf there - and James didn’t say a word about it. He kept up with Keith the entire time, stuck by his side and when it came time to wash off the grave dirt and blood they’d fall onto a cheap motel mattress, the bed of James’s pickup or, on one memorable occasion, the picnic table at a deserted rest stop at three in the morning and desperately fuck like it was going out of style.

James _might_ be a little bit in love with his new partner, and that realization surprised him more than it should.

Keith sat patiently on the tailgate of the pickup truck while James wrapped his bleeding arm. “It’ll be healed by tomorrow,” he said, but didn’t bother to pull his arm away.

“Yeah, but it’s bleeding _now_ ,” James said, matter-of-fact. He’d seen Keith get busted up several times and after a solid night’s sleep be good as new, but … he still worried. He hesitated a moment, one hand on Keith’s arm, holding the bandage tight and Keith recognized his hesitation, cocked his head and looked over at James through bangs clumped together by dirt and sweat. James didn’t meet his eye and tied off the bandage.

He kissed where the pulse beat in Keith’s wrist, skin still damp from a rinse-off shower. “No scar,” he said, the sheer drapes muting the harsh fluorescence of the motel’s flickering sign. The light caught in Keith’s eyes as he leaned in close.

“Like some busted-ass wannabe warlock is gonna leave a scar,” Keith snorted. He stilled though, when James rested his palm on the rough flesh of Keith’s shoulder. After a moment, Keith caught James’s hand and drew it to his face, instead. “A cursed blade,” he said softly. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

Six months, and they’d fallen into a rhythm. They left the coast, went south and east, windows rolled down as the sun on blacktop make the road ahead fuzzy. They camped in the desert, their cooking fire the only light to the horizon, the sky an unimaginable canvas of stars above. Keith sang his moon-song for James, and James felt the reverb echo in his chest.

“Why did you become a hunter?” Keith asked, naked and relaxed, the campfire painting his skin in warm tones. He had asked it before and James had dodged him, given simple answers, half-truths.

James watched the smoke travel into the night sky, head on Keith’s arm, bangs stuck to his forehead with sweat. “I want to help people,” he said. It was an answer he’d given before as well, it hadn’t changed from the last time Keith had asked him. _Maybe someday._ “No one else seemed to want to step up and do it.”

They followed a skinwalker back north across the mountains before they lost its trail in the wilderness. A week out of civilization turned up no leads and James was beginning to get a crick in his back from sleeping in the bed of his truck, so they headed toward the nearest hint of civilization. They were both desperately in need of a shower and a shave but food came first, and when they pulled into the surprisingly-busy parking lot of a mom ‘n pop diner Keith suddenly sat up and said, in the most panicked voice James had heard out of him yet, “oh _no._ ”

Leaned against a sedan at the back of the lot were two women, both watching them pull in. James glanced to Keith, who looked like he wanted to sink into the passenger seat and never be seen again, but he didn’t move or shrink down into the seat. “Friends of yours?”

They were both wolves, like Keith. But there was something different about them, a subtle, prickling feeling of danger that set every one of James’s carefully honed instincts alight. These were the sort of wolves he’d been warned about, and he watched them both, suspicious of the aura they exuded.

Despite his reaction to their presence Keith betrayed no air of concern, walking away casually with the taller of the two women, patting James’s arm once in a quiet, reassured manner. The gesture did not go unnoticed, the other wolf leaned back against the hood of James’s truck and gave him a once over, perfectly contoured eyebrow arching from behind dark sunglasses. “What?” James asked, irritated, off-balance by the sudden shift in Keith’s priorities; and she leaned in closer on her elbow before giving a loud, obnoxious sniff. “ _What?_ ”

She looked at him over her sunglasses now, both eyebrows raised. “Keith claimed you,” she said, her voice husky and warm and surprised all at once.

James got that prickling sensation again, the hair on the back of his neck raising. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of that or how to feel about it, but he wasn’t going to let _her_ know that. “We have a thing,” he said, flippant as he could manage but the flush crept onto his face despite himself.

“A _thing.”_ She touched her sunglasses once, pushing them up her nose again, and let out a small laugh. “Yeah, okay. If you say so, you’re the one taking his knot.”

His knot.

Keith putting James’s hand on his cock, pressing it over the bulge there. “It’s meant to go inside?” It was so big already, and Keith was barely hard; Keith swallowed, voice hoarse and assured him he didn’t have to - and James would feel the knot against him and felt weirdly bereft.

James flushed harder and looked away, across the parking lot to where Keith and Krolia stood, both with their backs to James, turned in toward each other while they spoke. There was an easy familiarity between them that James had only really seen Keith have with Shiro, and it rankled him for some reason. The two wolves didn’t speak for long and while Keith kept his arms folded and back straight James could see the way his shoulders tightened.

“Yeah, she’s chewing him out big time,” Acxa said, and brushed her bangs back behind her ear. “We’ve been looking for him for a while, he never checked in, and-” she gave James a side-eye, “it’s _unusual_ for Keith to leave his mission incomplete.”

It was a trap, and he fell into it anyway. “His mission?”

“He was sent away almost a year ago to clear his head after his girlfriend died.” She tapped manicured fingernails against her arm, honed sharp like claws. There was a hint of something distant in her voice that James recognized, a tightness eased by distance. “He was supposed to go do this easy mission to eliminate a threat to the Blade.” Acxa watched him watch Keith, and he could feel her eyes on him like lasers, burning into his skin but he couldn’t find it in himself to care because Keith’s arms had left their clasped defensive position and he was now gesturing animatedly. James felt itchy without his handgun in its holster, he’d left it behind the driver’s seat and his shotgun was safely stored in the bed of the truck - but Keith had put his hand on James’s arm when they parked and said firmly he wouldn’t need his weapons.

 _They’re friends_ , Keith said.

“What kind of threat?” James asked, distracted.

“A werewolf hunter.” She pushed off the hood of the truck, cocking her head as Krolia walked briskly back in their direction, leaving Keith with his arms crossed again and looking away.

It took a moment for her words to register meaning as James was more focused on Keith and not the wolf beside him, but once their weight hit he looked back to her, startled. Krolia had joined them by then, surveying James with a visible air of disapproval. “We’re done here,” she said, and Acxa nodded, hands on her hips as she tilted her toward James, eyebrow cocked yet again.

Something wordless happened between the two wolves, and Krolia’s nose twitched. Then she too tilted in toward James, just slightly, and inhaled.

“Would you both stop _smelling_ me?” James complained. A flicker of understanding crossed Krolia’s features, and she glanced back to where Keith stood with his head still hung, her expression softening.

“Keith’s not coming with us, is he?” Acxa asked, and the other wolf shook her head once.

“No,” she said thoughtfully, and gave James a long, considering look. “He’s not.”

They got in their car and left before Keith walked back over to the truck - and without a word or eye contact to James he slid into the passenger seat. James stood outside the truck and looked in, still considering Acxa’s words, before he climbed into the driver’s seat. “That was fun, huh?” James said, and Keith didn’t look at him, staring out the window instead.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said stiffly. “Let’s go.”

“I thought you were hungry.”

“I am. Let’s go.”

They drove for an hour without direction. James found a small road off the two-lane highway and took it, the gravel crunching beneath the wheels of his truck. He didn’t know where they were or where this road would take them, but he didn’t really care. Keith hadn’t spoken since they left the parking lot and the diner and James couldn’t bring himself to ask the question that now hung heavy in his mind.

The road ended in a green clearing, the sky a dusky amber, the sun already gone from the treetops. James had barely put the truck into park when Keith flung himself out of the cab and hit the ground on all fours, vanishing into the distant treeline, the flicker of a shadow gone in an instant. “I prefer venison,” James yelled after him, trying for a joking tone but his voice coming out more strained than he intended.

James stood there for longer than he wanted to admit, one hand on the truck’s open door and waiting for a response that never came.

It was a cloudless night. This far out from civilization the trees grew large and dark, and the stars above were multitudes, the milky way visible over the tops of the old growth forest. The moon sat low and waxing, just out of sight, and James stared into the fire he’d built alone and tried not to dwell on the unpleasant thoughts that raced through his head. He stoked the fire high and waited, and waited … and waited.

Keith didn’t return.

He listened for the faint call of a wolf, the distant howl to reassure him that Keith was out there somewhere, in the dark. While the night air was alive with rustling tree branches, the soft hoot of an owl, the distant creak of trees and the chirp of insects he never once heard the melancholy song of a wolf.

James lay in his sleeping bag and stared at the sky above him and realized how alone he was out here in the wild, and while this might have been standard procedure for him a year ago now the loneliness stuck in his throat. He swallowed around it, the worry that Keith wasn’t coming back, the suspicion that he was holding Keith back from returning to where he belonged and he settled onto his side, staring at the fire until his face felt raw from the heat and he could finally, finally sleep.

He shifted when a hand that was not his own brushed through the hair as his temple, and James’s eyes creaked open to a pale gray dawn. Keith was laying beside him, half on top the sleeping bag and naked as he often was. “Hey,” he said, his voice worn to gravel.

James sat up on one elbow. He looked at Keith laying beside him, covered in dirt and dark stains that might have been blood, and couldn’t keep the words and the worry inside any longer. “They sent you to kill me, didn’t they?”

Keith didn’t sputter, didn’t try to immediately deny it. The skin around his eyes tightened but he didn’t look away from James. “They sent me to assess a threat,” he said.

“And eliminate it.”

“If it came to that.” There was a tightness in James’s chest at hearing the words from Keith, at the confirmation of something he’d been chasing around his head all night, the feeling that he wasn’t _supposed_ to be here, not anymore. James pushed himself into a sitting position, the chill of the morning air creeping in to his cocoon of warmth.

“Why didn’t you kill me, like you were supposed to?” James asked, and now, _now_ Keith looked away.

“I don’t know.” Keith’s words were soft but they felt heavy to James, every syllable a struggle. “I went up on that mountain to kill you if the bear didn’t, and… I couldn’t do it. There’s just been so much death, I couldn’t do it.” He exhaled and looked at James imploringly, as if that small confession could absolve him but this time it was James who didn’t meet his eye, arms folded atop his bent knees and processing this.

“Why did you stay, then? You could have just … left.”

“I don’t know that either, it just felt like the right thing to do.” Keith sighed again and hung his head. “Krolia didn’t understand it either, but when I looked at you I felt like I just needed to _be_ there, that it was where I was supposed to be. If I hadn’t stay you would have died fighting that incubus-”

“Oh, you mean the incubus you practically shoved me out the door to fight alone?”

“You’re never going to let that go, are you.”

“Nope.”

“If it hadn’t been that incubus it would have been something else.” Keith rubbed his face with one hand, and still couldn’t bring himself to look James in the eye. “I’d never actually had a partner before Allura, and I was alone again and I couldn’t stand it. And then there you were, and you needed my help, and it … it just felt right. I can’t imagine being out there without you beside me now. I’m sorry I kept this from you but I didn’t want to risk losing you.”

James exhaled a soft sigh, laughing once, softly. “Is that supposed to be some kind of love confession?”

“No.” Keith pushed James down suddenly, and he let out a small yelp of surprise because he always forgot how much stronger werewolves were than ordinary humans. “This is,” Keith said against James’s mouth, before he kissed him.

“That doesn’t tell me anything,” James said, mostly smart-ass, when they surfaced.

“Then I’m not trying hard enough,” Keith said, and rolled on top of him.

The fire had burned to embers in the night and the morning air was damp and cool; but Keith’s mouth and body was a furnace. James knew he was meant to be angry still, _should_ be angry because Keith had never given him an indication of his mission - but he’d put his own life on the line for James now too many times to count and suddenly he knew _why_ Keith was so reckless with his own life.

“Jackass,” James said, hand curled in the dark hair at the nape of Keith’s neck.

“You like it,” Keith said, his teeth scraping James’s shoulder. He was right, dammit, but James didn’t need to confirm that for him, pressing his palm into Keith’s face and laughing despite himself as he pushed Keith back.

This was right, in a way that James was finally beginning to understand. The feel of Keith’s body against his, the warmth of his breath, the shape of his smile pressed into James’s skin; it all felt _right_ despite everything. They separated a little bit, Keith between his legs on the torn-open sleeping bag and actually paying attention to what he was doing. James craned his neck, pushed himself up on his elbows, watched Keith work his thickened cock inside. He didn’t thrust deep and although the feel of him knocked the breath loose from James’s lungs he tightened his leg over Keith’s hip, arms over his shoulders and mouth to his ear.

“Will you give me your knot again?”

Keith hesitated, drew back and stared quietly down at James. There was something new on his face, something James didn’t recognize but he didn’t let that expression change his mind - he pressed his hand flat against Keith’s chest, felt his heart beating a familiar rhythm through sweat-slick skin. “You’ve given it to me before,” James reminded him, lazy with his want now, on his back and bared in the warm light of dawn.

“You want my knot?”

“I want _all_ of you, Keith,” James said, trailing his hand up and over Keith’s shoulder, draping it there. “I love you.”

Keith let out a small broken sound and thrust hard. James gasped as the knot forced in - bigger than Keith’s dick, thick and hard and Keith held his hips still, let James feel out the shape of him and understand.

“Keith,” James gasped, had nothing soft to his his head against but that was fine, Keith’s elbows framed his head as he bent James double, in as deep as he could go. Keith stared down at him with concern as James shuddered, released across his own belly with a weak sob. “Fuck, _fuck-”_ his voice hitched, broke; and Keith laughed softly, with wonderment, kissing his face and holding him tightly through the cresting wave of pleasure.

Later they lay together, Keith’s chest pressed to his back, knot still snug inside after round two. “Why does your dick do that?” Jame asked, fingers twined with Keith’s. Keith kissed the back of his neck, nuzzling close. “I mean, it’s fantastic, but _why.”_

“It’s a breeding thing,” Keith’s breath brushed warm over his skin. “Ensures that our mates will carry only our young.”

“Yeah, too bad you’re gay.” James winced as Keith bit his neck lightly, not hard enough to draw blood. “ _Ow._ ”

“And here I thought you _weren’t_ ,” Keith reminded him, and James shrugged loosely as Keith tucked his chin over James’s shoulder.

“Only said I wasn’t gay, not that I wasn’t into guys.” James whined a little when Keith shifted them enough so that he had access enough to kiss James. It moved the knot inside him, a lot more than he expected. “The younger girl wolf, what was her name?”

“Acxa?”

“Yeah, her. She said you claimed me.”

“Mm.” Keith settled back down behind him. “I did claim you. You’re my mate.”

“Your mate.” James tried out the words, liked the feel of them on his tongue. “I’m your mate. I kinda like it.”

Keith let out a long, sleepy sigh. “I’m glad you like it,” he murmured, nestling his nose against the back of James’s neck again, and clearly much closer to drifting off than James was. “I’m glad I married you.”

“Wait. _What?_ ”

“Mated! I meant to say mated!”

_“KEITH!”_

 

#

 

“It’s not marriage in the most traditional sense,” Keith said, picking up the conversation again, sprawled naked on the towel beside James. The sun was high above them, painting his tan skin golden; and James refused to be envious of the way the sunlight pooled off his skin - although his gaze kept being drawn back to Keith, magnetized.

“Or even in the human sense,” James said wryly, and Keith lolled his head and gave James a soft smile. He returned the grin, then shook his head and looked out at the beach.

There was a region here that felt - not like home, home was a wild cornfield bisected by a two-lane highway and the remnants of buildings that stood only in memory - but it felt right. Like maybe it _could_ be something more than it was now. Beach and salt air, ancient tall trees and old growth forest that carried the weight of memory. They’d driven back this way, drawn here again and again. There was something magic about it, distant and fey and a year ago he would have scoffed at the notion - but a year ago he’d never dreamed he’d be where he was now.

“Would you say yes, if I asked in a human sense?” Keith said, and James tilted his head away, bangs falling across his eye as he watched the water. They’d already had this exact discussion, rehashed and retread and they’d have it again because Keith felt terrible and James wasn’t going to let it entirely go … although the sudden spark of anger in the moment had long since been replaced by a soft amusement.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” James said, and Keith let out a disappointed huff, because he hadn’t expected anything else. The silence between them stretched comfortable, until Keith sat up on his elbow suddenly, his head tilted - and then he rolled and was in his wolf form, head high and ears forward, listening intently. James shifted, hand sliding back for the satchel he’d worn down from the truck, gun out of sight - but relaxed as he saw the tension leave Keith. A few seconds later a large white wolf broke through the underbrush at the slope of the hill, shaking out and then trotting toward them. Keith’s tail lifted and began wagging, and James held his arm up as a shield to avoid getting whacked in the face. “You _are_ a dog,” he said, and Keith growled at him for a second before bounding off the towel and toward Shiro.

He watched the two wolves wrestle in the sand, and a few minutes behind Shiro Lance emerged from the footpath that had been created by years of covert use. “Yeah, I got the cooler all by myself, it’s cool,” he called toward the wolves. They both ignored him and Lance dropped the styrofoam cooler into the sand by James, dropping onto Keith’s abandoned spot on the towel with a loud, indignant huff. “Surprise,” he said, gesturing grandly with one arm, to James’s cocked eyebrow.

“We’re a good fifteen miles from the cabin as the crow flies,” James said, glancing back at the wooded slope. “Don’t tell me you walked all the way here, in your raincoat.”

“Nah.” Lance popped the lid on the cooler and rooted around, before producing a bottle and handing it off to James. “Don’t ask me how his nose works, but Shiro knew you two were around so we hopped in the Jeep and started driving the highway.”

“With a cooler full of beer?”

“Eh, if we didn’t find you we’d have a picnic on the beach. Luckily _I_ have the best eyesight of us both and saw your trucked pulled off at the overlook.” Lance pulled out a bottle of water and sighed, unscrewing the lid and squinting into the sunlight, watching as both wolves raced off down the beach. “And there they go.”

James shook his head and twisted the cap off his beer. Keith and Shiro had lost themselves in the moment and it was always entertaining to watch. He realized Lance was staring at him and he glanced back. “So,” Lance said. “You and Keith, huh. Officially.”

“Yeah. Me and Keith.” He took a sip of the beer and decided it wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever had, and at least it was cold. “There gonna be a problem?”

“Only if you hurt him.” Lance was quiet now, watching the wolves come back toward them, light and shadow, splashing through the surf. James sighed audibly, the truck was going to smell like wet dog again tonight. “He’s been hurt too much.”

“Allura, right?” James scrunched his toes in the soft sand off the edge of the towel.

“He talked about her?”

“A little. I didn’t pry.” Heads tilted together, firelight bleeding into shadow at the edge of his features and the story of a vampire and a werewolf, deeply personal and deeply tragic. “I love him.”

“It’s written all over your face.” Lance seemed satisfied with that and stood up, stretching his hands above his head and kicking off his swim trunks. “I’m going for a swim.”

“Hey, _hey_ , don’t get naked out here-” James started, although they were the only ones on this abandoned stretch of beach, and Lance was ignoring him anyway, his coat staying firmly on his shoulders despite his arms not in its sleeves as he waved down the beach at the white wolf.

“Going for a swim,” he called again, and Shiro raised his head. When James looked back to Lance, he was already at the water’s edge, coat wrapping around his form - and James forgot, because it was so easy to forget that Lance was as magical as his husband - and he watched spellbound as the seal slipped into the water.

“Bring back dinner,” Shiro’s voice boomed down the beach, one hand cupped around his mouth as Keith-the-wolf eeled around him. There was no indication Lance heard him though, already disappeared underneath the choppy blue waves.

They built a fire on the beach; large and bright as the sun set, warmth to take the chill off the evening. James hadn’t intended to be here all day and yet the day had passed regardless - Lance walked out of the surf at dusk, carrying fish in coat, light-footed and happy as Shiro scooped him up and spun him. “The fish, the _fish-_ ” Lance laughed and James and Keith caught his coat, bundled full of fresh fish that they cooked over the open fire.

It was calm and it was peace, and James leaned into Keith, his skin still sun-warm in twilight and thought for a brief second how perfect this moment in time was; Shiro laughing over his beer as Lance told a long and involved joke, Keith’s arm around James as they both listened, the crackle of fire and the sparks drifting up into a summer sky filled with stars.

“Yes,” James said, suddenly, softly, and Keith brushed his fingers through James’s hair, kissed his temple and made an inquisitive noise, the earlier discussion already forgotten. “I would say yes, if you asked.” Keith’s fingers curled tight on his shoulder, James could hear his heart rate increase and he laughed, unnoticed by the others. “But there’s no need to rush it.”

After a moment the tension in Keith’s fingers released, and he smiled. “No,” Keith said, as they settled in close. “I suppose there isn’t.”

 


End file.
